


JeanMarco Week

by MasterJiggywiggy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: JeanMarco Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:28:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterJiggywiggy/pseuds/MasterJiggywiggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>http://jeanmarcoweek.tumblr.com/ has created a lovely JeanMarco week from November 11 - 17.</p>
<p>Day 1 - Insecurity<br/>Day 2 - Inspiration<br/>Day 3 - Reincarnation<br/>Day 4 - Longing<br/>Day 5 - Red<br/>Day 6 - Music<br/>Day 7 - Struggle</p>
<p>This is my contribution. (:</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My perfection (Day 1 - Insecurity)

The titan attack had left Marco more damaged than he would ever admit. Jean was the only one to ever know the extent of the pain he suffered, and that's mainly because Jean was the one to find him:

Battles against titans were raging on every street when Marco felt the excruciating pain shooting through his entire body. Nothing was there to stop the titan from finishing the job, but by some miracle, it just left Marco there. He doesn't remember what happened next, but Jean remembers it better than anything else. There Marco was, laying against the only intact wall of a destroyed building...Jean saw him as he zipped by. The speed with which he turned his course must have been the fastest he would ever move in his life. Blood was streaming for Marco's numerous wounds at an alarming pace. His right arm war missing, and half of his face was maimed. Jean's sobbing screams attracted the attention of some fellow soldiers who were able to save Marco.

After the attack, Marco was forced to alter his entire way of life. Titans now frightened him more than they frightened anyone else. He was forced to leave training. All of his hard work up to that point was rendered useless as he walked away from the training barracks. Slowly, he pushed everyone away in his depression, everyone except Jean that is. 

Jean still thought Marco was the most handsome man he had ever set him eyes on as he watched Marco sit at the kitchen table, struggling with the pages of the book he was reading. In the past months his hair had grown shaggy enough to cover a majority of the scars on the right side of his face and his missing right ear. Since his eye had to be removed from the extensive damage it suffered he had begun wearing an eye patch which also hid all the scaring around the socket. The right side of his lips seemed to be forever down turned from the muscle damage and scarring. 

He was clumsy now, still not being proficient with his left hand. Every simple action required so much effort. Jean's help was one of the most consistent things in Marco's life now.

Jean's rough hand ran up the side of Marco's face, fingers straying slightly over the textures of the scars that riddled the freckled skin. Love was all that shone from Jean's eyes.

Marco shied away from the contact, “stop...Jean, no, that's the gross side.”

“It's not gross,” Jean assured, eyes narrowing, an edge entering his voice. Marco's eyes were so sad. He still tried to escape the contact. Jean placed a hand on the other side of his face, forcing Marco to look into his eyes. “You're perfect,” Jean began.

Marco cut him off, “I'm not.”

Almost rolling his eyes, Jean continued, “You're perfect to me. Why does it matter what others say? Can't you see how much I love you?” Marco was left speechless. 

Seizing the silence, Jean kissed him gently, smiling as Marco fumbled to get his arm around Jean's waist before he returned the kiss.


	2. Sculpting (Day 2 - Inspiration)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco finds inspiration for a statue he's been commissioned to sculpt in Jean.

“Thank you, Marco,” the man with the impressive, golden jewelry was saying, “I believe our church will welcome your sculpture with open and eager arms.” Marco had been commissioned to sculpt an angel statue for part of the church's new décor. 

Smiling, he replied, “ thank you for the opportunity.”

 

“So, what's it gonna look like?” Jean questioned, not particularly interested in anything but the payment the project promised. 

Marco paused, running his thumb along the line of his jaw. “I have no idea,” he finally murmured. 

“Is it to be male or female?” Jean offered his help. 

“They want a male angel.”

“At least that's something to go off of.”

“Yes,” Marco sighed. 

Light streamed in from the window next to Jean and bathed his face in soft light. His every feature was accentuated. Shimmering skin and glimmering eyes. Inspiration had shown itself in the guise of Marco's lover. “I know what to sculpt,” Marco chirped suddenly. 

“Huh?”

“Will you be my model?” he pleaded.

“Huh?” Jean repeated, more confused.

“The way the light is...Just, please be the model for my sculpture. You just have to sit on a stool for a while as I sculpt. You're always with me when I'm working anyways.” 

Marco's puppy dog eyes were impossible to resist, “Alright.”

 

Minutes passed as Marco positioned Jean just right on the stool in his studio. Jean's expression was wiped and replaced with one that was blank. Marco made him tilt his head slightly up, elongating his jaw line. The smoothed back hair style made Jean's features seem more sharp. Marco was not too demanding with the pose, since he was good with anatomy and Jean would complain. 

Then his work began. Chunks were ripped from the block of clay only to be replaced and another hunk ripped off in its place. Soon, Jean's general shape was showing through the messy work in progress. Marco was covered in clay dust and slick. 

“Might as well give me a show,” Jean teased when Marco's shirt became completely soiled from his work. The freckled man complied, lifting his shirt over his head and sticking his tongue out before continuing his work. 

Now the bare skin of his chest was becoming messy with clay. His hands moved furiously at first but gradually got gentler and began to use small tools for defining. After hours, he was finished with the statue. 

Wings were extended lazily around the standing angel. Every muscle was smooth and defined. The texture of the skin almost seemed real. One foot was slightly extended in front of the other and his hands were up in the position for praying. A loin cloth covered where his genitals would be and flowed down one leg. 

The head and face of the sculpture were the most beautiful though. It could have been Jean's twin in detail. Everything was the same about his face except somehow Marco's work really did make him look like an angel. Every feature was defined as Marco had seen it in the soft sun light. The eyes almost glimmered, even being made of only dull gray clay. 

Jean couldn't help but smile, “it's beautiful.”

“I know,” Marco agreed, gazing at the face that was his inspiration.


	3. Register Five (Day 3 - Reincarnation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I do so well on this prompt, but here it is anyways. I hope someone can enjoy it!

Jean thought the cashier at register five was very attractive so, being Jean, he never went to register five. It wasn't that he didn't want to interact with the man behind the counter...it was that he turned into a stuttering mess anytime he was in close proximity to anyone he found even slightly attractive, so he just avoided it. At all costs. He would get the meager amount of groceries he needed, check out at the opposite end of the store, and speed out the automatic doors, looking flustered the whole time. 

His plan worked for the most part, only getting a few odd stares here and there at how fast he would exit the store. One day though, the lines at every register were winding throughout the store. Still, he took his regular spot at a line on the other end of the store from register five, but as fate would have it, he was moved to another line. He was moved to the line at register five.

Blood was already rushing to flush his cheeks. He was crimson before he even arrived in front of the freckled man behind the counter. The man, Mark, his name tag read, rang up the carrots and milk then said, “five twelve is your total.” Jean pretended the friendly smile was for him. 

A hand trying not to shake handed Mark a ten and waited patiently for the change. Fingertips brushed against Jean's palm as he received his change. Visions flashed in his mind. 

They were in a narrow alley. Blood pooled on the ground around them, soaking through Jean's white pants. Jean was shouting 'Marco!' Hopelessness coursed through his very being. He was watching Marco's very life drain into the cobblestone streets. Tremors seemed to shake the very Earth. Shouts were sounding all around but none were near enough to hear Jean's desperate, sobbing cries. 

Now he was standing in front of the register, tears rolling down his face. “Marco...” he whispered and saw Mark had a pained look in his eyes.


	4. Return (Day 4 - Longing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean begins to think he may feel more than friendship for his best friend, Marco, while he waits eagerly for his return from war.

News reports told of the horrors and the death toll of the war. The news wasn't the only connection Jean had to the war, but somehow it was. News was the only connection he had to his best friend, Marco. Conditions on Marco's end made it near impossible to send or receive letters. Phone calls had never been an option after he had departed. Two years had now passed with minimal contact.

Everything felt wrong while Marco was away. Jean never realized that he could miss one person so much. He even started to wonder if he really thought of Marco as only his friend. Many sleepless nights he spent wishing he could roll over and count the freckles on Marco's muscular shoulders. Many more sleepless nights were spent thinking of when he had started to notice just how Marco looked...how every part of his body moved.

The phone was ringing. Unknown number. It was three in the morning; Jean debated on answering it. “Hello?” he finally answered. 

“Hey,” Marco's voice sounded on the other end, “did I wake you? I'm sorry. Time zones...”

“Marco! No, no, you didn't wake me up...I was already up,” he couldn't hide the excitement in his voice or overlook the dull ring in Marco's.

“I'm coming home,” he announced. 

“When?!”

“A few days...I got hurt a bit in action. So, they have to send me home.”

“Hurt? What happened?”

“Just some broken bones,” his voice sounded dry, “it's no big deal, but I'm useless over here right now.”

The freckled man's tone made something in Jean's mind doubt the authenticity of the story, but his excitement drown it's small voice out, “give me the flight information.”

So he did. The flight arrived at ten fifteen the morning three days from then and Jean was going to pick him up. Sleep managed to ensnare him the nights leading up to his friend's arrival, which was surprising but would do him good. 

Heels clicking together, Jean sat on the bench by the Starbucks in front of the arrival area, staring at his watch and running his fingers through his hair. Today would be like old days, he thought, they would meet and talk over coffee. Jean would stay silent about his conflicted feelings and absorb as many of Marco's new stories as he could. At nine thirty he arrived and every extra minute the ticked by felt like an eternity. But, forty five eternities later on the dot, the announcement that the flight had landed sounded. Only minutes and a small walk lay between reuniting friends. Jean stared at his watch, flicking his gaze up to the walkway every so often. 

Marco couldn't help but smile when he saw Jean sitting there, staring at his watch like he was willing the hands of the clock to move faster. When Marco was a few feet away, jean looked up. Immediately, his jaw dropped. Marco knew his lie would be discovered as soon as Jean beheld him.

Jean stood there, slack jawed. Marco didn't lie about the broken bones, there was a wrap around his torso, the kind they make you wear when your ribs are broken. That wasn't all that was wrong though. His right arm was missing. The button up shirt he was wearing concealed the stump in a hasty knot of sleeve. An eye patch adorned where his right eye would be, healing wounds peeked out from under it and slithered down his skin, cutting many freckles in half.

“Ma-Marco,” Jean breathed as he lurched off of the bench.

“I'm sorry,” Marco said, eyes cast downward.

“Sorry?” a dry laugh escaped Jean's throat. “You could be dead and you're sorry?” Marco looked uneasy. “You could have died, but you're alive. Why are you sorry?” Jean continued babbling as he embraced Marco. 

Marco let his bags drop to the floor as Jean grasped at the fabric of the back of his shirt. “Marco, Marco, Marco,” he was mumbling into the freckled man's shoulder. Awkwardly, Marco wrapped his one arm around the almost sobbing man. 

Something about the contact awoke Jean's suppressed emotions and they flooded through him all at once. In a flurry of emotion, Jean pressed his lips against Marco's, all his passion flooding through the action. A mutual feeling flowed from Marco's tender lips. No words needed to be said. They were in love with each other.


	5. Nose Bleed (Day 5 - Red)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco gets a bloody nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I wanted to do more with this but occurrences in my personal life prevented it. i'm sorry!

_Soldiers zipped by, leaving the sound of the gas propelling them in their wake. Harsh odors permeated the air, gasoline and burning flesh. Slicing sounds cut through the panicked screams and cries. Tremors wracked the earth. When death was near, they would worsen._

_Jean was sobbing, screaming, “Marco! Marco! Marco!” Marco lay there, blood flowing out of his numerous wounds. His right arm was missing somewhere in a titan's gorged belly. The street was painted red. Desperately, Jean preformed mouth to mouth only to come up with a mouth full of blood. His hands pounded on Marco's chest, begging the heart inside to begin beating again._

Jean awoke, sweat dripping down his skin and puddling beneath him. Tears streamed down his face. Reaching over, he searched for his lover and found only empty space. He felt a warm wetness on his hand. When he examined the liquid on his hand, he found it was blood. “Marco!” he shouted.

Clattering sounded from the bathroom. “What?!” Marco sounded exasperated as he stumbled out of the bathroom, “are you okay?!”

With a trembling sigh, Jean murmured, “I just...I had that dream and then I woke up and there was blood all over your pillow...And you weren't there...” 

Marco smiled gently, “just a bloody nose.” As he spoke, blood began tricking from his nostrils once again. “Can you help me?” he said, voice muffled by the hand over the lower half of his face. 

After a moment of basking in the realization that Marco wasn't going anywhere, Jean got up and went to help Marco with his bleeding nose. No matter what the two did, Marco's nose always ended up bleeding a bit again, so Jean shoved some wads of toilet paper into each nostril. Marco self consciously held his hand over his face as he made a pot of coffee (since it was already morning) as Jean giggled at the red flush in his freckled cheeks. 

Teasing was Jean's favorite thing to do that day.


	6. Smother Me (Day 6 - Music)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean has a musical surprise for Marco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally thinking of carrying this characterization over to the shitty high school AU I'm planning. I think I like Punk rock Jean. What do you think?  
> One more day left of JeanMarco week!!!

Marco didn't think Jean's garage band was any good, but he loved that Jean worked so hard at it. Annie was fantastic at the bass guitar. Eren was a terrible drummer. Jean was alright with a guitar, but it was nearly impossible to decipher the lyrics he was singing when he screamed them into the microphone. Marco wasn't even sure if Jean _could_ sing. But together the three of them made up the Titan Slayers, a shitty punk band. 

They had been practicing for hours now, and hours Marco had been sat in the corner trying to read something Shakespeare for his English class. (Concentrating on anything proved near impossible with the Titan Slayers pounding their instruments and Jean singing something about anarchy.)

Finally, Marco gave up his reading, deciding to pull a late night to do his class work. Instead, he focused on Jean. He may not have been that talented of a musician, but man did he look hot doing it. On his head was the rainbow beanie he always wore. His expression was so focused; Sweat beaded at his hairline and dripped down his face making his glimmer...In the most punk rock of ways, of course. He had one of his The Used shirts on. (It didn't matter what shirt he had on though, really, because they all hung lose and had holes strewn about them.) Black jeans hugged his hips loosely, revealing part of his happy trail. 

Marco smiled widely as the Titan Slayers finished their practice. Annie was always the first to leave, but she was the first to arrive too. Eren was going on about whatever it is that he goes on about and asked if they would like to hit McDonald's with him. Jean declined quickly, which surprised Marco. Jean always wanted McDonald's. 

Marco shot him a quizzical look that was answered with a finger raised in the one minute gesture. Patiently, Marco waited until Eren was gone then asked, “ _you_ don't want McDonald's?”

“No,” Jean said flatly.

“I don't believe it.”

“Okay, alright, I do want McDonald's...but I have a surprise for you.”

Marco furrowed his brows, “a surprise?” 

“Yes. Hold on, I have to get my acoustic.” 

Marco nodded and watched Jean's ass as he pranced over to his acoustic guitar. (The basement where the band practiced was also his room.) As he walked towards Marco, he picked a pick up off the ground and slung the guitar strap over his shoulder. He strummed once when he sat down, making sure the guitar was in tune. “I learned a song for you,” he said shyly with a small smile.

“What song?” Marco asked curiously.

“You know it,” and he prepared to play. He began to play a familiar melody, “Let me be the one who calls you baby all the time. Surely you can take some comfort knowing that you're mine.”

Marco smiled as Jean began to sing Smother Me by The Used, which was the song that was playing when they kissed for the first time. His smile grew as he realized Jean could really sing and his voice was beautiful. 

Jean continued singing, a smile dancing on his lips, “just hold me tight, lay by my side and let me be the one who calls you baby all the time. I found my place in the world, could stare at your face for the rest of my days.” 

Marco sat, quiet in his bliss, as Jean sang. Jean's voice held more emotion in the last words than it had the entirety of the song, “let me be the one who calls you baby. The one who calls you baby.” When he caught his breath, his smile became shy and his face flushed rose. Looking down at the couch cushion, he asked, “did you like it?”

“I loved it,” Marco said, moving Jean's face to where he could see it. “And I love you,” he added, kissing Jean.


	7. Glass (Day 7 - Struggle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco struggles with life after losing his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could give you some grand-last-day-of-Jeanmarco-week thing, but my sister was in the hospital and I've been run really thin. So, i apologize, have a couple hundred words of fluffy stuff.  
> This has been really fun, everyone! Thank you so much for all the comments, views, and kudos. <3

_Crash._ Shards of glass skittered across the hard wood floor. “What happened?” Jean's head popped through the kitchen door. 

Marco held up his one arm and sighed, “I knocked down a cup.” 

As Marco reached for the broom, Jean asked, “do you want me to get that?”

Marco hesitated but then accepted the offer. Grabbing the broom, Jean swept up the mess but not before a stray glass piece pierced the bottom of his foot. “Shit,” he muttered as blood was smeared around the floor. Gently, he picked up the rouge piece and tossed it in the trash bin. 

“I'll bandage that!” Marco said as he slid into Jean's route to the bathroom. The injured man nodded, took Marco's hand, and let himself be led to the bathroom. He plopped down on the toilet seat as Marco rummaged through the various things under the sink. Pulling out a medical kit, he grabbed disinfectant and some gauze. Jean placed his foot on the edge of the bathtub and Marco began to spray it with peroxide. He managed to get everything done on his own until it came time to wrap the gauze around the foot. “Could you...Hold this end here?” he asked, voice shaking slightly. 

Jean did as he was asked and Marco finished the bandaging job. His head fell into his hand as he slouched against the side of the tub. “What's wrong?” Jean asked, placing a hand on the freckled man's shoulder tenderly. 

“I can't do even simple things without assistance...” Marco took a deep breath. “I'm so useless...”

Jean gazed at the man who was once a soldier, once so brave and fearless. The corners of his lips fell as he thought of the drastic transformation, how someone once so strong could become so scared and depressed. Jean tightened his grip on Marco's shoulder slightly. “No you're not,” his voice was stern. 

Marco attempted to protest. He tried to hold his tears at bay, but failed. Jean wiped the tears from his cheeks and made him look up at him. “You aren't useless. You are nothing less than what you have always been. You are amazing. You are perfect.” Jean kissed Marco, hating that the taste of him was drown out by salt water. “I love you. I'll never stop loving you...No matter what happens, I'm never leaving.”


End file.
